expansion optimism abundance

expansion optimism abundance

Archives

July 4 Party Playist (2013 Version)

This playlist started as something other than this year’s July 4 Party Playlist. At first it was kind of a Van She appreciation playlist, but then it became something else, and then I realized it actually was this year’s July 4 Party Playlist. It kind of took me on a trip, which is exactly as it should be.

You’re wearing, well, if you’re a dude you’re wearing whatever because who cares you’re a dude, like pants and a shirt or something. If you’re a woman, you’re wearing your favorite vaguely Brazilian Olympian shirt (there’s nothing wrong with wearing this shirt all the time, just like there’s nothing wrong with listening to the same song 5 times while running), cutoffs, gladiator sandals (fuck yes I did not fully live until I wore gladiator sandals), a gigantic American flag scarf wrapped carelessly around your neck, and large earrings. You’re at a beach party in Australia. Van She is playing live and they’re hot (I hope they’re hot) and you’re drinking and maybe playing volleyball and it’s weird that you’re in Australia what with this being the Fourth of July and all, but sometimes these things happen. Everybody is smiling and beautiful and they probably swim professionally for a living and nobody at this entire party would ever spend a July 3 evening drinking beer, smoking weed, and putting noise-canceling headphones on their Rottweiler. It’s super chill. Someone has a house on the beach with a lot of wooden stairs and you’re there and you’re on the deck under a big umbrella to get out of the sun for a minute. Maybe you eat a sandwich or some artichoke dip — with tortilla chips, not bread. This does not have anything to do with anything, but artichoke dip with tortilla chips sounds nice.

Then it’s night, dark, late, and you’re at a hipster party in someone’s yard in an up-and-coming neighborhood under a string of lights and there are too many people in the inflatable pool. Some asshole is playing a ukulele but you don’t really hear him because there’s music and you’re dancing and you’re not sure there actually is “you” or “not you.” It’s hot but you don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care about anything but what comes next, as long as it doesn’t involve the guy with the mustache. You’re relieved when he gets distracted by the woman in the too-tight polka-dot dress. She has roller-derby bangs but still you can see that she’s sometimes insecure around men. The music gets louder and it winds its way into your body and you love everyone everything everybody. There is no furniture, only space, and you dance and dance and dance and dance.

You wake up alone in a bed in an unfamiliar apartment, sunlight streaming in through the tall windows and think, “Shit. That was a party.”